


In the heat of battle

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Clara find themselves in the middle of a civil war, wounded and desperate. They find themselves confronted with death and loss, how could they possibly react?<br/>English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the heat of battle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cappyforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cappyforever/gifts), [Naphta85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphta85/gifts).



The door opened, almost breaking the hinges. A slam to get in, another to close the battle outside. Clara had got in first: black dust, mud, dry blood and melted make up stained her face and hands, and the skin that had been exposed too: superficial cuts, tares on her clothes. The Doctor too was covered in mire and soot, mostly gunpowder, but his wounds were more severe, especially the one on his left arm.

The fights were rumbling outside, like a thunderstorm. They definitely had to stop looking for bookshops, since they ended up always on a battlefield. So much for steampunk subcultures, war was horrible even with clockwork armies, mechanic muskets and steam operated tanks, moreover if the war is a civil one. The Doctor would have tried to persuade them with words and counsel, but he and Clara landed directly in the heat of battle. They almost got blown up on the spot, but one of the locals had, in their place. Terrified, but strong as they were, they tried to protect everyone and hurt no-one: extremely difficult, you can understand. They had no time to stop and figure out what was going on, so they fled away to the first shelter they could find: the TARDIS had been taken by one of the armies, if they were armies, but luckily it was locked – for now.

The cottage they found had been robbed. The few room that made it were literally upside down, like an old sock: open drawers, half-emptied bookshelves, single dirty or tore pages on the floor, broken chairs, messy tables. The only thing that survived was a big tub, probably a bathtub by the shape and size, in front of a fireplace, still warm thanks to the burning papers and pieces of furniture inside. The water was still warm thanks to that. They must have been caught during a normal day.

Clara was visibly trembling, as she was trying to keep her fear at bay and concentrate on what to do. The Doctor had lost a lot of blood but not being human, he only felt a little dizzy and was just concentrating on her. She was safe, that was what counted.

She got closer to him, examining the wound. They were short of breath for the run they had made and still fuelled by adrenaline.

«You're hurt!» she said, realising it was worst than she thought. «Come, we need to clean it, or it will get infected.»

He obeyed, for he was just checking she was okay, wearing those silly sonic sunglasses. She took them away from his nose with a frustration grunt.

«Stop it!» she exclaimed, and started crying.

«Clara?» he asked, stranded by that reaction.

«You could have been killed out there!» she yelled, looking angry and worried and desperate, all in one. «You could have been killed and all you can do is... show off!»

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, cleaning off the dirt from her face.

«Clara, I only wanted to check you're okay» he replied, and tried to take those tears away by caressing her face, but find himself unable to move his wounded arm, only the other one. She took his pulse with a firm grip, unconvincingly trying to get him away, while desperately wanting to hug him.

«Plus, I can regenerate, and...» he started again, but was interrupted.

«No! I don't want you to regenerate!» she finally said, still crying: fear and adrenaline were messing with her emotions.

«You said it feels like dying, and I don't even want you to feel that.» she explained «It was horrible already seeing that once, and... I don't want to lose this “you”.» she added, wiping the tears away, and forcing him to follow her near the bathtub.

She started unbuttoning his jacket, but then found that the wound might be infected already by some of the fabric of it. She asked him to wait a moment and disappeared in the other room, re-emerging from it with a pair of scissors and what looked like a first-aid kit, but not very modern or complete. She cut the sleeve along the seams on his shoulder and carefully pulled it away. The Doctor betrayed some of the stinging pain with a grim. The biggest wound was not the only one: the entire arm had bruises and cuts, and, Clara suspected, the rest of his body was. She felt her forehead burning and his fingers slightly touching it: she was bleeding too.

«I think we should both wash all the dirt out and check what has to be stitched or disinfected.» he explained. Her cheeks were flushed and she didn't even know why.

Silence now was absolute, night was approaching and they hadn't even noticed it.

There was a creaking noise from outside, and the Doctor instinctively hugged Clara, as to protect her from anything that could come up. She curled up inside that embrace, scared but not panicking. She felt safe, she was only worried about him.

The noise came from behind the wall: it was just a little mouse, that crawled out of his lair and ran off. The Doctor started to breath again, although he hadn't consciously stopped.

Their eyes met. They probably hadn't been so close since... well, since always. He could feel her chest raising and lowering fast with her short breath, as she could hear his hearts pounding like impossibly fast drums.

«Clara...» he murmured, and she heard it from his mouth and directly from his chest.

«If this was the end of the world, and it may probably be, what would you do, Doctor?» she asked, though scared of the answer. He hold tight on him but for once he didn't feel like running away.

«This is not the end of the world, Clara.» he replied.

«What if it was our end? What if... not like the Orient Express, not like Missy and the Cyberman, not like Christmas, or Skaro...» she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. «You know what I mean, don't you? How did you say goodbye to the others?»

That thought made her so jealous she felt like crying again, of pure rage this time.

«Cowardly. Selfishly. With impossibly bad timing.» he replied.

She nodded.

«Would you do the same with me?» she asked, and that was pure challenge.

«Oh Clara... you wouldn't let me, would you?» he smiled, with a desperate smile.

«No, I wouldn't.» she confirmed, with a little laugh and a tear, her lips trembling.

«I meant it, Clara. I may not have said it the proper way, but... I love you.» he finally said, feeling as scared as hell.

She nodded, and cupped his face, standing on her tiptoes, forehead against forehead.

«I love you too, impossible man.» she replied.

They opened their eyes together, but they closed them again as they kissed. Gently, at first, tentatively, then sweetly and passionately. He hold her with both arms, even if one was hurting so. She tore his jacket and shirt open, then away: enough bad timing already, and his clothes were already in pieces because of the fights. He remained gentle yet fast, unzipping her jacket and her dress, taking them off her smoothly.

Clara stopped for a moment: it was not like any other time with him or somebody else. She felt anticipation, and fear as well as curiosity and lust but... it was not only hers. It was like they were emotionally and telepathically linked. That was how Time Lords made love.

She reached his belt and trousers, and so did he with her leggings. They took them off rapidly to each other, kissing desperately now. She lost her breath and had to get away from him. On the lower part of her stomach, a wound was bleeding. He had seen it with his glasses: the leggings had held it together, but... He could fix it. He had to. He put a hand on her belly, the tip of his fingers slightly under her knickers' elastic band. She felt a wave of warm energy: he was... mending her wound with regeneration energy. She closed her eyes, bit her lip and waited for him to finish but she was desperate to drag him inside that bathtub with her, flush, wet and aroused. It was very difficult to stay still or to stand, her legs felt unable to sustain her.

When he finished, his own arm wound was closed, as he had used that energy for the both of them. She held on his now cured arm, while his other hand was moving forward down, taking her knickers off rapidly yet gently, letting his fingers feel her, wet and longing.

Her sigh was low yet very clear, so he decided that he was too done with all the bad timing: he guided her hands to his boxers, and undid her bra, that she took off impatiently.

He helped her into the tub, following her immediately. The water was immediately stained red and black. She kissed him again, her fingers losing themselves among his hair, while he leaned on top of her. She slightly bit his lip when he penetrated her, and scratched his back when his thrusts became stronger and faster, while he firmly held her tight, and adjusted his moves to hers. They called each other, short breath, boiling blood, until she came with a clear, loud moan, and he did too, with a deep roar.

Clara didn't let him slip away that easily. She held her Doctor inside her a moment longer, gaining back her breath, closing her eyes to print that image and feeling inside her memory.

They did not part for long. The Doctor always took his duty of care very seriously with Clara. He washed her face, her hair, with gentle touch. He caressed her skin, breasts, back, hips, legs... he examined every scratch and cleaned it properly, and she did the same for him.

They took some clothes from an abandoned wardrobe, the surviving one to be precise. Clara had often fled away the morning after, but it was not morning yet. She contemplated the idea of just putting him against the wall and made him whisper all sorts of profanities but... there were lives at stake, and she had been selfish already. They had to find the TARDIS, they had to stop a war.

They found the locals, they persuaded them to give back the time machine, and after a few more dramatic turns of events, all was well. They got back inside the control room: the Doctor and Clara Oswald, in the TARDIS.

«So... where do you want to go now?» he asked, smirking. She put an hand on his own, that was holding a lever.

«I don't care. As long as I'm with you.»

They both pulled the lever, and the TARDIS flown away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I hope you all enjoy it, but especially those two madwomen who give me prompts! All hail the 12th Doctor's companions.


End file.
